In their bedrooms — separate ones, he noted — clothes were strewn everywhere. Drawers hung open. Some had been left on the floor, partially emptied. Strangely, he felt no satisfaction, merely tiredness and melancholy as he struggled downstairs again, still favoring the twisted ankle.
What had possessed Ashton? What demons of ambition? He would never know. Somehow, he was thankful.
He started as the tall clock chimed a quarter to five.
By late the following afternoon, several versions of the assassination story were circulating in the offices around Capitol Square. About four, Seddon approached Orry's desk. Orry held a government memorandum and appeared to be reading it — an illusion, Seddon realized, taking note of Orry's blank stare.
He cleared his throat, smiled, and said, "Orry, I have some splendid news. I have just talked with the President, who wants to present you with a written commendation. It's the equivalent of a decoration for gallantry in the field and will be accorded the same treatment. Published in at least one paper in your home state —"
Seddon faltered. On Orry's face there had appeared disbelief and disgust of such ferocity they alarmed the secretary. Avoiding Orry's eyes, he went on, less heartily, "The commendation will also be entered on the permanent Roll of Honor maintained in the adjutant general's office." Cloth and metal couldn't be spared for making decorations; the Roll of Honor was the Confederacy's substitute.
"Mr. Davis would like to award the commendation in his office tomorrow. May we arrange a suitable time?"
"I don't want his damned commendation. He drove my wife out of Richmond."
Seddon swallowed. "Do you mean to say, Colonel — you will — refuse the honor?"
"Yes. That will certainly cause another scandal, won't it? My wife and I have grown used to them."
"Your bitterness is understandable, but —"
Orry interrupted, an uncharacteristic slyness in his eyes. "I'll refuse it, that is, unless you and Mr. Davis also promise me an immediate transfer to General Pickett's staff. I'm tired of this office, this work, this pig-mire of a government —"
He swept all the papers from his desk with one slash of his arm. As the sheets fluttered down, he rose and walked out.
Heads swiveled. Clerks buzzed. Seddon's face lost its conciliatory softness. "I am certain a transfer can be arranged," he said loudly.
112
In the aftermath of the Eamon Randolph case, Jasper Dills began to worry about his stipend. He heard nothing of or from Elkanah Bent. He knew Baker had discharged Starkwether's son because of brutality in the Randolph matter. Beyond that, the record was blank.
Work taxed Dills to the utmost these days. Although some of his employers were Democrats, none wanted a Copperhead or peace candidate elected president; a shortened war meant diminished profits. Nevertheless, he decided he must make time to call on the chief of the special service bureau. He did so in late June. Baker's initial response was curt.
"I don't know what's happened to Dayton. Nor do I care. I followed instructions and dismissed him. Then I forgot about him."
"Blast it, Colonel, you must have some information. Is he still in the city? If not, where is he? Will you force me to pose my questions to Mr. Stanton and tell him you refused to help?"
Instantly, Baker grew cooperative, though Dills wished he hadn't when the bearded man said, "I have it on good authority that Dayton was in Richmond about a month ago."
"Richmond! Why?"
"I don't know. I was only told that he was seen."
"Is it possible he defected to the other side?"
Baker shrugged. "Possible. He was pretty angry when I let him go. He was also, in my opinion, unbalanced. I frankly wish I'd never taken him on. I know your reputation, Mr. Dills. I know you have a lot of friends in this government. But I don't know why you're so interested in Dayton. What's the connection?"
By then Dills had decided he would get no help here and must go higher. "I'm not obliged to answer your questions, Colonel Baker. Good morning."
On Independence Day, a Monday, Dills did go higher, setting out in his carriage for the War Department. While it was technically a holiday, and the Thirty-eighth Congress was rushing to adjourn, many government offices stayed open because of the pressures of war and politics. Things were not going well on any front. The resignation of Treasury Secretary Chase, first submitted to the President last winter, had finally been accepted. Chase, presumed to have been encouraged by the same anonymous radicals who had helped draft the Pomeroy Circular, which called for Lincoln's defeat, was stepping down to become a presidential candidate, so rumor said. Literally overnight, his departure created widespread fear that the government was bankrupt.
Telegraph dispatches from the Shenandoah Valley told of increased guerrilla action — torn-up railroad tracks, burned bridges — and of the steady retreat of Union forces toward Harpers Ferry. No one in the North had quite recovered from the news of the enormous number of casualties in the spring campaign. To this was added the May humiliation at New Market, when Sigel was once again whipped, this time by a rebel force that included two hundred and forty-seven boys — youthful cadets from VMI, the military school where Jackson had taught.
Reaching his destination, Dills alighted on the avenue and wove his way through a large crowd of dusky contrabands, whom he carefully avoided touching in any way. The contrabands loitered on the walks at the edge of President's Park, hungry faces and envious eyes turned toward the picnic in progress on the grounds. Swings hung from the shade trees, and food and drink covered great trestle tables set up between the War Department and the Executive Mansion. With the consent and encouragement of the government, the picnic was being held to raise money for a new District of Columbia school for Negro children. The guests, numbering several hundred already, consisted mostly of well-dressed civilians from the town's colored community. Here and there Dills saw white faces, which disgusted him even more than the cause itself.
Dills had an appointment with Stanton's flunky, Stanley Hazard. Though a mediocrity, Hazard was rich and had somehow acquired a circle of influential friends. Dills supposed he had done it the customary way, by buying them. What made Hazard unusual was his ability to stay balanced at the fulcrum of the wild teeterboard of party politics. He chummed with the politicians who wanted to defeat Lincoln at the polls yet worked for a man considered to be the President's staunchest supporter and friend. Stanley Hazard's survival was doubly remarkable in view of the stories one heard about him, particularly that he was usually drunk by half past nine every morning. When he was extremely busy, no later than ten.
On tiny feet, the tiny lawyer climbed to Stanley's office. In one corner stood a brass tripod holding burning cubes of heavy incense. To mask the odor of spirits?
The incense did nothing to mask the fuzzy expression on Stanley's face as he gestured Dills to a chair. Glancing out the window, Dills allowed himself one pleasantry. "I must say, passing through that mob, I wondered whether I was in the District or the palace gardens of Haiti."
Stanley laughed. "What about a West African village? Did you happen to notice what the darkies are serving down there? I'm guessing it's barbecued effigy of Bob Lee."
Dills pursed his lips, for him the equivalent of hysterical laughter. "I know you're busy, Mr. Hazard, so let me come to the point. Do you recall a man you interviewed for a post with Colonel Baker? A man named Ezra Dayton?"
Stanley sat up straighter. "I do indeed. You recommended him, but he was discharged. Highly unsatisfactory —"
"I deeply regret that. I had no way of anticipating it. What brings me here is the need to learn anything I can about Dayton's whereabouts, for reasons I wish I could divulge to you but cannot."